I Will Not Beg
by Sadie Breezy-O'Shea
Summary: Juno had been right. Annabeth had indeed caused trouble for them. It was her fatal flaw— hubris— that had made her this way. She had allowed her pride to overcome her. One-shot.


Title: **Will Not Beg**.

Setting: Giant War; Greece.

Warnings: Character death, slight insanity. Angst. **Just read at your own risk**.

This came to me during an Algebra exam...

Some romance... if you squint.

* * *

His breathing was heavy and uneven. Beads of sweat covered his face, mixed along with his own dark blood and dirt. He imagined how pathetic he must've looked— sprawled on the ground like an old and useless rag doll, covered in bruises and scars, a cursed blade against his throat— at the mercy of his enemy.

Lupa would be ashamed of him. She taught him that heroes must _never_ be weak. Heroes must never _show_ weakness.

However, even though he was about to get his throat sliced, he would not beg for mercy. _Real_ heroes would never stoop as low as to _beg_.

He. Will. Not. Beg.

_Especially to her. _

Her murky brown eyes were fixed on his own, a malicious smirk adorned her beautiful face.

He took a second to look around, careful to not move his neck— with the blade pressed against his neck, blood trickling down his throat and to his exposed, scarred chest.

The damp, Greek air was filled with screams of pain and weak battle cries. Metal clashing each other, enemies fighting to death. The beautiful sounds of war filled the air— like music to his ears.

He chuckled inwardly— him, thinking that _war_ was beautiful?

Perhaps the god of madness had finally stripped him of the little sanity he had left, or perhaps he was still traumatized from the last war he had led, only a year ago.

Here he was, leading another war, yet again. This time with someone else. Another leader, like him. Another child of the Big Three who knew of the griefs of war and the pressure of leading their side to victory.

The cold blade pressed against his throat harder, making it hard for him to breathe. His eyes focused back on hers. For a second he saw her smirk waver a bit, but it was gone as soon as it came.

"Do you miss your little, weak girlfriend, Jackson?" her voice was laced with fake sweetness, it was _her_ voice. It him him and wounded him like a bullet would.

Juno had been right. Annabeth indeed caused trouble for them. It was her fatal flaw— hubris— that had made her this way. She had allowed her pride to overcome her.

If she hadn't been so prideful, she would've asked for help— she wouldn't be hosting Gaea's soul against her will.

"Annabeth," he chocked out, color leaving his face, his eye lids getting heavy and slowly shutting his eyes.

"Percy," she whispered, his eyes snapped open. He could see her eyes— the beautiful stormy gray he loved so much— then they were replaced once again by the muddy brown eyes.

Annabe– no, _Gaea_, raised the majestic sword and lifted it above her head, she then kicked Percy's weak body and forced him to lay on his side, a pool of blood surrounding him.

The dark eyes were fixed on the small of his back, his previous mortal spot. Although he was no longer invulnerable, it was still his most weak spot.

Memories of him and Annabeth flashed before his eyes— his dip in the Styx, the kiss under the canoe lake, their date in Paris.

Then, the blade was buried into his back.

_Just my luck to be killed by my own sword. _

As his ghost slipped away from his body, he could see Nico di Angelo staring straight at him.

_'Doors of Death'_ he mouthed, tears cascading down his pale face.

Percy shook his head and floated closer to the son of Hades, "This is what the Fates had in store for me," he whispered in the younger boy's ear.

The Ghost King's onyx eyes turned darker and a fierce look of determination masked the sadness in them.

Nico raised his Stygan Iron sword and charged at Gaea.

"For Percy!"

_'For Percy_!'— hundreds of Greek and Roman voices yelled, making it echo throughout the battlefield.

His vision faded and he could see Charon standing next to him, a sad smile on his face, unlike the smug and cocky smirk he usually wore.

Charon led him to the boat filled with many other heroes who had died in the war.

Next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the three judges.

"Perseus Jackson— Elysium."


End file.
